


Threshold

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Anal Sex, Fire Emblem Kink Meme, Masturbation, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Magic, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, boeys completely in control of the situation so everything's consensual, we're just here for a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 07:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He just needed something to push him over the edge.(Fill for the FE Kink Meme.)





	Threshold

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Intended to be post-SoV, thus putting Boey into an age range decidedly higher than 16. On that account, no archive warnings, but here's a heads-up regardless.
> 
> i'm sorry
> 
> Edit: This is officially my most popular fic by a long shot and I would very much like to die. Thanks for enjoying my consensual tentacle porn I guess.
> 
> Prompt: boey, alone, tentacle sex. are magic shenanigans involved? probably.

He wasn’t sure how it came to this, he swore he really wasn’t- But now Boey was absolutely certain of the reasons why certain spells were never on spell lists, all too aware of the magic humming at his fingertips and the tentacles slowly creeping up his calves and thighs, terrified of the fact that he didn’t want it to stop. It was as if he were standing at the threshold of something big, where a clear line was drawn on the ground that he’d never been aware of, never seen, never crossed, and now that it’s right in front of him-

The tightness of his pants was already enough of a testimony to how much he wanted to get it over with and take that single precarious step. A tentacle lifted up the hem of his robes, almost too gently to be real, more crept in and his belt fell to the hardwood floor, cold, too-smooth skin sliding against his stomach, his chest, his shoulderblades. And then, just as Boey flinched, they stopped.

He’d almost forgotten that the magic was responding to _him_ , and he realised, with a sickening jolt, that he really _could_ stop at any time.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he willed them to keep moving with an awkward jerk, and the tendrils made quick work of undoing the front of his robe, brushing over pert nipples and drawing the most pathetic whimper he’d made thus far from parted lips. The mage shuddered. _No going back now_ , some corner of his mind murmured bitterly before he lost himself to the feeling of skin on skin and magic thrumming through his blood, drawing and drawing on tiny amounts of energy to keep the tangible apparitions intact.

They pushed, and Boey let himself be lowered onto the bed easily. After momentarily fumbling to get the buttons on his pants open, he lifted his hips to get them off, and they fell off the side of the bed without a sound- The rest was a little awkward as he settled down on the sheets, breathing uneven, legs tucked underneath him as he tried to figure out what he wanted. He bit his lip, brown eyes flickering from the spell he was keeping intact, then to everything but. The tendrils hovered patiently, idly stroking up and down his thigh, his shoulder, his hipbone, and then-

Well, fuck it, what happened, happened, he guessed, as he shucked off his underclothes and the tentacles pulled him forward onto all fours, loosely holding him down, another hiking up his robes up to his waist as he exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut. Hopefully what little preparation he had before had been enough.

He squeaked regardless at the slickness at his backside, pressing against then pushing in with relative ease, creating friction that made both him and the apparitions shudder- The sensation was strange, stranger than it had been for the brief time earlier, but the fullness and the pleasant burn in his gut it brought was motivating enough for Boey to attempt a quick, shallow thrust, a slight curl at the end as it lingered, punctuated by a cry.

“ _Ah_ , that’s good.” He ground back, involuntarily chasing the tentacle as it pulled back for another, dragging across his walls, but not nearly enough. “Deeper.”

The projections complied, the limbs crawling to his hips and holding him still as the appendage thrust into him again, trying to find a good angle- It didn’t take long, and the mage’s hands tightened on the sheets as he bit his lip, head lolling as his elbows threatened to give. Precum dripped from his dick like the lubrication running down his thighs as the mage was pushed forward slightly with each thrust, breathing hitching, stuttering with each time until whimpers spilled out inbetween- No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep quiet, couldn’t silence his pleas and whines for more, but none of those were needed, either- He and the spell were, in a way, one and the same, every waking thought and mind shared between the magic and its caster.

“Gods, please, I- Nnh.” he breathed, and the pace quickened, pushing him forwards again as he stifled a scream- His arms gave out, face buried in his pillow with his ass in the air as more tendrils snaked their way to his chest to rub and tease and flick. Muffled keens accompanied the wet, slick noises as he attempted to push back, needing more, more, trying to angle and align everything in a way that would almost make him scream to relieve the burn of pleasure still coiling in his gut almost unbearably, an appetite he felt obliged to sate- But only almost scream, because he wouldn’t. (Probably- He might die of mortification afterwards if he did.)

For now, though, all that didn’t matter- It had never been his intention to scramble for release so desperately, because he had time enough to draw this out, but with every brush, every white-hot contact, he couldn’t help but do so. Desperate for more, Boey untangled a hand from the sheets, ran his fingers down a tentacle resting along his side, down to a slick, trembling thigh, before dragging it back up to wrap around his dripping cock. He thumbed over the tip and moaned, the tentacle behind stuttering, compensating with a sudden hard thrust that pushed him forwards as another crept over his wrist and settled around his length pleasantly. His hips bucked into the tight ring, recoiling in time to meet another rough thrust from behind, and he nearly sobbed from all the stimulation because it was so good, so _good_ but _just not enough_. The tentacle slowed, stopped, slipped out of his ass with an obscene, wet noise.

“Please.” the mage murmured, as another joined the first, hesitantly pressing back at his entrance, just as wet and slick.

"Fuck me."

And they answered to his plea, agonizingly slowly, settling in to let the almost-uncomfortable stretch fade away to nothing but a satisfying fullness that made him whine, grind back, beg into his pillow for more when the minimal friction didn’t prove to be enough, his hand quickly replacing the tentacle at his dick and pumping unevenly.

He’d barely whimpered a ‘ _let me come_ ’ when the tendrils curled, stroked as he cried, sobbed affirmations over and over, stroked himself, pace barely matching the thrusts from behind, sliding into him, against eachother- His free hand scrabbled against the sheets, before settling in white locks, tangling in and tugging at them as the tentacles kept fucking him at their brutal pace, sliding all over his legs and torso, and he didn’t last long after that.

The burn came to a peak as he came with a garbled cry, the tentacles burying themselves in his ass as white splattered onto his hand, the sheets- His frame shuddered as as he rode out the aftershocks, gasping and moaning wordless obscenities into a too-damp pillow. The apparitions stopped, before they were dismissed by a wave of his unsoiled hand as Boey panted, came down from his high and rolled onto his side, wiping spit from his face half-heartedly. His robe was shucked over the side of his bed, joining the rest of his clothes somewhere on the floor, and the mage grimaced at the slickness that remained between his legs, making it impossible to dismiss this all as some sort of messed-up dream he had no choice in whatsoever and deny it in case- _Just in case_ \- it ever came up. A grimace crossed his face as he sighed.

“Oh, I am _not_ looking forward to cleaning this up.” he muttered, before finally curling up, carefully avoiding the wet spot on his sheets, and closing his eyes, utterly spent.

Gods, was he going to be sore in the morning.


End file.
